


under this dark sky, we found our way home

by alloftheseships



Series: Some Things Will Destroy Us [3]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: Character Study, Core 4 Dynamics, Drabble, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, M/M, One Shot, Tattoos, The Isle of the Lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloftheseships/pseuds/alloftheseships
Summary: In the bleak and dreary world that was the Isle, color was a vibrant distraction from the daily monotony. Color was her hair, was red-split knuckles and her mother’s eyes. Color was Carlos in his red shorts and the way his eyes lit up as he talked. Color was Jay and his bruises and the trinkets that spilled from his pockets. Color was everything about Evie.Or, the Core 4 get tattoos





	under this dark sky, we found our way home

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't necessarily have to be read as part of Some Things Will Destroy Us, though I do make reference to Jay's snake tattoo at some point. I wrote this on a whim and I kinda liked how it turned out. Hope you guys enjoy :)

i.

 

Mal had always loved color. In the bleak and dreary world that was the Isle, color was a vibrant distraction from the daily monotony. Color was her hair, was red-split knuckles and her mother’s eyes. Color was Carlos in his red shorts and the way his eyes lit up as he talked. Color was Jay and his bruises and the trinkets that spilled from his pockets. Color was everything about Evie.

So, after a terrible morning of listening to her mother torment a few undeserving henchmen, Mal decided to leave the Bargain Castle for a few hours. Sitting curled up in her room with a pillow over her head did little to block out the henchman’s screams. She snuck out of a downstairs window and her feet took her to the oh-so-familiar Junk Shop. She caught Jay’s eyes through the window, and several minutes later he was joining her outside of the shop. She told him what she had in mind. The smile that spread across his face was far from saint-like.

They gathered Evie and Carlos, climbing the ladder to the treehouse that had become their own space. Jay was a silent presence as she explained her idea to the others. The two shared a look when Mal was done.

Carlos met her gaze and asked, “Won’t it hurt?”

Mal’s smile was all teeth. “Anything worth doing hurts.”

It took them some time to gather the correct supplies. No one wanted to risk getting an infection. When the time finally came, Mal went first. She was always first.

Evie, the only one besides Mal that was artistically inclined enough for what Mal had in mind, hovered over her bare shoulder. With Jay and Carlos’s hands tightly held in hers, Mal nodded for Evie to begin.

Mal was intrigued by pain, was tempted to discover the limits of her body. There was an underlying itch beneath her skin at all times, magic in its rawest and most inaccessible form thanks to the barrier. She wanted to feel more than her mother’s scorching disappointment, wished desperately she could be free from the entanglement of traps and plots and schemes that formulated their relationship. She didn’t fully understand how she felt about her mother. She wanted to make her proud – she wanted her destroyed, and she wanted hers to be the hand that uncrowned the queen.

The end product was red and angry, but Mal trusted Evie to have done what she asked perfectly. She couldn’t see the entwined pair of purple dragons on her left shoulder but the hot sting of their presence radiated a delicious energy she craved. She would ensure her mother got what she deserved, and when she did, she would look at the lovely purple creatures and she would remember. She would recall every hurt, every slight, every beating. She would make sure she could only feel hate for her mother in whatever moment was her demise. It would be better than the alternative.

And when the hard work was done, her true family would remain. No one could take them from her. She would make sure of it. It was a promise, one Evie traced delicately in black along the inner skin of Mal’s left ring finger.

_E — C — J_

 

ii.

 

To Jay, the tattoos were less of a distraction and more of a reminder. The largest one was done by Mal  _—_ a  sleek red snake that encircled his torso and slithered across his arms. He couldn’t find words worthy enough to articulate how he felt about the snake. On days when the pirates pushed their luck or when he came home empty-handed and exhausted, he looked at the tattoo and recalled the path he’d been on, before Mal. He remembered everything he’d fought for, everything he’d claimed without his father’s help.

The first time his father had seen it, he’d run his fingers across the scales and whispered, “At last, little snake. You’ve done something to be proud of.” It wasn’t praise but it wasn’t damnation, either. It furthered Jay’s resolve. Whenever he looked at himself, looked at his street or examined the customers who frequented his father’s shop, where he had once seen a certain future, he now only saw possibility. Before Mal had claimed him, he could have turned into the Gaston twins or Clayton Senior; he never would have dreamed further than his front door. He never would have believed he had any other purpose than to fill his father’s shelves.

The snake was a part of him, his past, his present, and undeniably his future. But he wouldn’t be defined by it or by blood.

When there was nothing left to bring home, when his stomach had been empty for three days, when he made a mistake big enough to deserve whatever Jafar dealt him, Jay looked at the three initials and remembered who had given him another chance. He remembered Mal’s careful, guarded affection, Evie’s understanding and open arms, Carlos’s flushed cheeks when he realized he was being flirted with. When there weren’t enough blankets he remembered the warmth that spread through his chest when they were all together. He remembered the three people in his life he could trust to never stab him in the back, to always be reliable and _safe._

The pain he felt was inconsequential; the pride that flooded his body was more than enough to make up for it.

_M — C — E_

 

iii.

 

Carlos had grown accustomed to pain over the course of his life. His mother. Horace. Jasper. Harry Hook. Evil, any one of the many, many people who had dragged him through the dirt over the years. Pain was an unwelcome given, a blight as attached to his soul as his own shadow. For so many years, it had been the only thing that kept him sane; he couldn’t trust Cruella to tell him how many hours or days she’d locked him in his room for, but he could guess by the rate of his healing wounds.

Outcast and alone, pain was his only constant companion. Pain he could rely on. Pain did not lie or deceive. Even so, he did not particularly like pain.

It had taken more than a little convincing, but he had realized he didn’t have to suffer. Two dark, avenging angels (or devils, how could he be sure?) had swept down and pulled him up, knocked the dust from his clothes. Together, they’d claimed another and ever since, _he_ decided what sort of pain he felt. He’d found that there was more to life than scraping by and, despite the rock they had been born on, he could still find little things that sparked something akin to joy in his chest. That joy was Evie’s warm smile, special and just for him, was Jay’s hand in his or a playful wink, was Mal kissing his forehead or ruffling his hair. They didn’t burn or take, weren’t malicious or cruel (towards him, anyway). They gave him something more dangerous than spells or magic mirrors. They gave him the knowledge that he deserved more than to crawl. And so, any pain he endured, he endured because he wanted to.

When it was his turn, he found he could barely feel the stinging. He’d suffered worse than the three tiny black letters and for once, the long-accustomed pain was his friend. 

_M — J — E_

 

iv.

 

To Evie, the black permanently inked into her skin only reflected how she felt about those whose initials she’d chosen.

Years of self-loathing and deep-rooted doubt had been her ever consuming slide towards despair. The need for approval, the panicked, sick feeling of knowing she’d slipped, of dozens of eyes on her, of too-many sideways glances and stares. _Are they looking at me? Are they talking about me?_ She wanted them to notice her – she wanted to sink into the ground. Hands and bodies where they weren’t meant to be. Her mother’s sharp barbs that insinuated Evie liked the attention. That she _should_ like the attention. Because she brought it on herself, didn’t she? Her clothes, her hair, her makeup. A part of her hoped it was all the things that her mother had ingrained in her must look this way, must be styled that way, must hang or cling this other way. She only ever did what her mother told her was expected of her. She obeyed and she suppressed and clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood.

Above the crushing fear and constant scrutiny, there was one other aspect of Evie’s life that scared her more than anything: the isolation. She just wanted to be _seen_.

She didn’t know when it happened. All she knew was that a girl with purple hair and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen had irrevocably changed her life. No longer was she suffocating. No longer did she have to subjugate herself to the whims of her mother or whichever boy she thought she needed to impress. Evie, for the first time in her life, had been able to breathe.

She found solace in Mal’s arms, in the way that the abrasive girl melted in her presence. She came to cherish Jay’s jokes and upbeat sense of humor. She found some of her own insecurities in Carlos and they worked together to undo what had been done to them. She still felt as if she were drowning, as if there were an invisible fist slowly choking her (or perhaps a piece of poison apple), but with the family she had chosen for herself, she found her lungs.

The initials were small, easily concealed by makeup or gloves. Evie never forgot their presence, and whenever she needed strength, those she loved weren’t far at all.

_M — C — J_

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this work is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Please let me know if there's anything that could be improved, I always enjoy critique.
> 
> I also feel like I should mention that I have not given up on my sequel fic, she's just turning into a bit Much. Good news is I have the rough draft almost halfway finished, but I'm not promising anything soon. Thank you all for being patient! Love you guys


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